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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830302">Snowed In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/afogocado/pseuds/afogocado'>afogocado</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Sleep (2019), Doctor Sleep - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Biting, Creampie, Danny communicates with Reader through the shining/she has a bit of the shine but not like him, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time Together, Kissing, Love, NSFW, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:36:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/afogocado/pseuds/afogocado</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which you’ve had feelings for Dan Torrance for a very long time; you get snowed in together; and....</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dan "Danny" Torrance/Reader, Dan "Danny" Torrance/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Snowed In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, you know me. Always incapable of writing smut without /feelings/. *sigh* I hope this is enjoyable. This is untitled on tumblr, so please forgive the lame title here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>—</p><p> </p><p>It was the usual Saturday night dinner with Billy and Dan. And as much as you tried to avoid defaulting to gendered caring for men and perpetuating the learned helplessness narrative, you couldn’t help but have a soft spot for the two of them. Most of the time, these Saturday dinners were the only home cooked meal the guys had for the entire week. The dinner was usually something that included loads of vegetables, as the guys probably didn’t get enough throughout their weeks filled with quick meals in between working themselves too hard.</p><p> </p><p>But what wasn’t so usual this Saturday was the unexpected snowfall. None of you knew it was going to be this bad, you think to yourself as you hear the guys chatter idly in the background while they clean up the kitchen and do the dishes. You’re standing by Billy’s row of windows, peeking through the blinds at one of them, and shivering over the cold creeping through the glass. You find a streetlight glowing bronzen-orange across the way, and squint into its cold haze to see how bad it really was coming down outside: pretty bad.</p><p> </p><p>“Billy, can I crash here tonight? I don’t see anyone walking in this, let alone driving.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, drive in the car I don’t have,” Billy says over his shoulder at you, drying off one of the plates with a microfiber cloth.</p><p> </p><p>“I meant the bus,” you roll your eyes at the window and hear him murmur to Dan ‘five bucks she rolled her eyes’. Though you’d be lying if you said you meant for Dan to drive you home. To be alone with him just for a little while. And maybe even invite him upstairs for a cup of coffee or tea.</p><p> </p><p>Dan’s chuckle is quiet, like everything else about him, with one warning for Billy, “Behave.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy makes a ‘bah’ kind of sound and tosses the rag over his shoulder and crosses his arms over his broad chest. This ‘bah’ sound earned him the nickname ‘Billygoat’, which he despised, which only made you and Dan love it all the more.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ll go ahead and turn in,” Dan says when he turns the faucet off and returns to the living room to grab his key ring and sweater that’s been draped over an armchair since he arrived. Dan didn’t stay too long once the dishes were taken care of—he spent the rest of his evening catching up on his reading, which was a ton.</p><p> </p><p>You sit up with Billy for a bit, watching Queer Eye on his laptop, telling Billy that you want to submit him to the show because you wanted to meet Jonathan so badly.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you just can’t love me for who I am,” Billy says, shaking his head, and closing his laptop with the last episode, telling you that he’s ready for bed. It’s not an absurd statement: it’s almost midnight, after all.</p><p> </p><p>But when Billy goes to bed, and you find yourself laying on his couch and staring up at his ceiling, you can’t will yourself to fall asleep. It’s not because you stay up any later than this, and it’s not because you’re trying to sleep in an unfamiliar place.</p><p> </p><p>You can’t stop thinking about Dan. Like most nights, for the past three years or so. Like every night, for the past few months or so. You’ve known him since he moved to Frazier thanks to being Billy’s closest friend. And your duo turned into a trio very quickly. And you spent almost all of your free time together: fishing when it was warm out; a fire pit out back when it got cold; game nights when the weather was unbearable. Watching loud action movies with Billy; sitting in silence with Dan while you both read your own books, waiting for Billy to come home.</p><p> </p><p>And no matter how much time you spent with Dan, he was never far from your mind, especially when he was right in front of you like tonight.</p><p> </p><p>Especially when he was just a floor away from you, like right now.</p><p> </p><p>You break into Billy’s slumber and tell him—lie to him—that you’re walking home. The Billygoat grunts at you to let him sleep. Fair enough.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You rap lightly on his door and look behind you nervously, like anyone would be out in the halls this late. They aren’t. You hear shuffling on the other side of the door and it opens with a quiet click and you’re met with a surprised, but pleasant, look from Dan.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” is all he says, running his hand through his hair, pushing it back, grooming himself for you. He’s still dressed like he was earlier: flannel shirt, well-fitted jeans. It’s hard not to obviously take all of him in without him noticing. But he doesn’t notice; he never notices. He’s also finishing crunching on something, probably a handful of spearmint Tic Tacs that he keeps in his shirt pocket at all times.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Everything all right?” He leans against the door frame in an easy way that makes your stomach hurt, especially with the way that a lock of his dark hair has spilled over his forehead again.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, everything’s fine. Billy fell asleep on me, and I’m wide awake. I just wondered if you wanted company?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d love company.” He moves aside and lets you come into his room, closing the door behind him. “Need a break from all this Russian literature,” and you both smile at that.</p><p> </p><p>You try hard not to look around his room in an obvious way. Nothing much has changed since he moved in a couple of years ago. Same chalkboard. Though erased profusely, its still marked up with the faded remnants of games of hangman and tic tac toe played between the three of you. Same desk. Same chairs and plants, and shelving—the only difference is his small, but growing library.</p><p> </p><p>He pads over to his bed and sits at the foot of it to finish reading the page he left off on before you interrupted him.You stand and look at him awkwardly: the way he puts most of his weight on his left arm, the way his head is tilted and his hair falling loose while his eyes rapidly trace the lines of text on the page. You stand and look at him awkwardly because this is the first time you’ve been alone together that you wanted something from him, and came to him with the intent of asking for it.</p><p> </p><p>He dog ears his page and lays the book on the floor next to his bed. He straightens his posture just a little bit, but there’s still that slight slump in his shoulders that always makes you want to fold him into you. His hands twist in his lap while he looks up at you. “Would you like to sit down?”</p><p> </p><p>You think he means one of the chairs, even though sweaters and other loose things are piled on top of all of them. But he means his bed because he’s scooting away from you, his back moving closer to the bed’s headboard and making room for you at the foot of it. You join him—no nerves, nothing like that—and mirror the way he’s sitting. And you both just look at each other.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t been in someone’s room and sitting on their bed like this since I was a teenager,” you admit to him, and feel yourself flush from such an admission, like you are trying to insinuate something. But you are. And he wants you to. You just don’t know that yet. “Sneaking into houses after school.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe we should make out,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, going along with what you’re already semi-innocently talking about. “Before my parents get home.”</p><p> </p><p>You laugh at that (probably too hard) and he smiles like he’s proud of it, one of those bright smiles with all of his teeth. When he smiled like that, you wondered what it would feel like fo him to nibble at your collarbone with his teeth, maybe even bite down a bit harder than that.</p><p> </p><p>The more you think of this, the quicker your good humor tapers off, and the quicker his smile slides from his face and is instead replaced with a bright eyed curiosity that leaves him biting down at his lower lip, and it makes your heart race.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Just say something. Do something,</em>’ you tell yourself, but you’re frozen. You never thought you’d get this far with him at all, even though its just platonic bed-sitting, and even then, that’s only because there’s no other space to sit.</p><p> </p><p>Dan reaches out and tugs playfully at your sock, and you can see his eyelashes blinking quickly, the small smile at the corner of his mouth, and your heart races once more—did it ever stop?—at the way his hair is spilling over his forehead again. Your heart races because you know before you can stop yourself, that you’re going to reach out and touch his hair and push it back in the way that you’ve seen him do so many times over the years. And you do, and its soft and slick at the same time from whatever product he uses and from the fine sheen of oil gathered throughout the day. And you love it, just like you knew you would.</p><p> </p><p>His hand covers the top of your foot, and he squeezes softly, looking at you, “You’re cold.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m all right.” And you realize that your hand is still in his hair, and start pulling it away, but he catches it with his free one and presses a soft kiss on your inner wrist, never breaking eye contact with you.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I spend the night with you?” You ask, all of it coming out in one word it seems.</p><p> </p><p>There’s that smile again, and a quiet, “Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>And since you’ve gotten this far, there was no reason to back down now. “Do you want us to take our clothes off?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>You both scoot closer to one another, your legs crossed and knees touching. He presses his fingertips against your knees and moves to push them apart. When you comply, he hooks his grip around your legs and tugs you over to him to where you’re sitting on his lap.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this okay?” He asks in that quiet way of his, the consonants catching hard in his throat. His palms are warm and squeezing gently over the top of your leggings. You want to tell him that everything is okay, that literally anything could happen right now and it would all be okay.</p><p> </p><p>He watches you with a keen interest as your fingers start their cautious work at his flannel’s buttons. His hands slide up your thighs, just a bit more with each button’s undoing, his thumbs applying a creeping pressure moving ever inward. “I’ve never done this with somebody I cared about before.” And he lets out a shaky sigh that excites you so much to be the one to give him a first experience. You want to tell him that you don’t think you’ve ever wanted something so much from another person, that all the times before this were just loose moments meant to fill in the spaces that he didn’t exist in yet.</p><p> </p><p>You think about his past—speculate about it, really—and wonder if any time something like this happened before, if it was only out of drunken desire: a numbed neediness sprung from his partner of the night and from himself. Were these encounters brief? Had he ever felt a kind of tenderness in them? Or even a lick of kindness? Our just a burning and passing desire? Not unlike the previous need for liquor like medicine to burn a path straight to his stomach?</p><p> </p><p>Its intrusive and unfair to wonder these things, you tell yourself, pulling your mind from the rabbit hole it so easily wants to burrow into, reminding yourself that you only ever knew Dan Torrance in his recovery, and that his past was none of your business.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘Its okay,’</em> he tells you, but his words catch in your chest because you’re not sure he spoke it at all—you’d been too focused on gazing into his steady steel-blue eyes that you may have missed his mouth move. But you know he must have read your face somehow or something because his tone is calming, as though soothing you and telling you your mistake is okay.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” You ask, taken aback.</p><p> </p><p>“Its okay to think like that,” he says. “I know that it’s probably hard to not think about who I was before you met me.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have to talk about this right now, or at all.” You press your fingers onto his chest—the part of it still covered with the flannel even though the shirt is already unbuttoned and open and framing his bareness in front of you that you are aching to see, but are still too nervous to look at at all. Its all you can do to keep his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“I want nothing more than to be with you right now. Like this—”</p><p> </p><p><em>‘I want more,’</em> you think, watching his eyes shift and study your face, his pupils slowly clouding up around his blue irises. <em>‘I don’t know when it happened or when it started but its been a long time and Ive been waiting for you, hoping for a ghost of a chance.’ </em>But the last few words have a strange echo that sounds like Dan—like he’s reciting your thoughts with you. Or, like your thoughts are shared—identical—and melded together, and you were hearing his actual thoughts that matched yours.</p><p> </p><p>And again, it’s like your thoughts have disturbed him, interrupted him.</p><p> </p><p>“Or—or, we can stop,” he finishes, his brow furrowed with his worry line, and looking at you like he was searching for something.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Danny,” and you hadn’t noticed you’d said this aloud until you followed up, “I want to, if you want to.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks slowly at you, and offers a small, closed-mouth smile like he wanted to shy away from you, and mumbled something about not being called ‘Danny’ for a long time. The flush that creeps over his cheeks is endearing and you want to melt into him.</p><p> </p><p>But then Danny leans close to you, going off kilter as though he wanted to fall into a secret with you; tell you something important, and only for him to give to you and for you to take from him. And his nose comes nearer, pressing into your cheek and running a line until hes pressed close to your ear. His scruff is against you cheek like you had though about, dreamed about, wondered about for so long, so long—it feels like both everything and nothing like you could have ever imagined. The bristles comfort you and his sigh matches yours, warming your ear and filling it with a static-frizzly desire, your stomach plummeting—almost more excited about him being so close more so than his breath being so near, close enough to kiss you, to devour you like you want to ask him to. And your fingers stutter to a new life, and you press their tips against his bare chest and pause before running them through the thatch of thick, dark hair there, and you stop yourself from cooing over the several silver ones you find when your fingertips card through their soft and coarse warmth. A moment of embarrassment has you flush because you want to press your face into it. To inhale his body here, to compliment just as he’sbreathing in and exhaling yours.</p><p> </p><p>“We can just sleep,” he says against you, his nose roaming again, and pressing it into the crook of yours and his forehead stopping softly against yours. Though you couldn’t see because your eyes were closed, it was like you could see his long eyelashes flutter shut, and that line in his brow—always pressed there in concern—melted away, because you were both finally comfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to have sex, Danny.” You breath out in a nervous sigh, thrilling over the way those words sound together: out loud, to him. “With you. If you want to.”</p><p> </p><p>He catches your face with both hands, running the pad of his thumb over one of your cheekbones, and you hear him moan softly—a delicate sound that makes your chest feel like it could shatter from an aching affection, but also lights an exciting fire in your lower belly to know that you were the reason he could make a sound such as that in the first place. And followed by, ‘I only ever want you.’ But again—just like before—you’re not sure if he’s made that sound aloud, or if it came from somewhere else. But…from where?</p><p> </p><p><em>‘You know from where,’</em> he says without saying it at all—you know this time—because he’s busy using his mouth to press a small kiss against your jaw, and your hand that’s been nestled in his chest hair this entire time brushes up and up until your fingers are splayed over his throat and you press in just a bit, somehow knowing—feeling—that this is what he wants. You feel his pleased groan hum out of his throat, the pads of your fingers reverberating with his want. “You’ve known for a long time,” he tells you in this strange way. “Longer than you’ve wanted this.”</p><p> </p><p>And you did know, you silently agree, whining when his lips find the sensitive skin at the crook of your neck, his scruff scratching you. Such a delightful contrast to his lips: soft, and tracing a short path as though mouthing silent words against you before pressing against you again. And when you sigh out his name with a short grunt, that is the sound that breaks his carefully structured floodgates of composure, moving his mouth to open hot against this spot of skin, tongue darting out and running a flat stripe before suckling at you, and his arms wrapping around your lower back, pulling you flush and steady against his front which was a feat in and of itself because his frenetic kisses have turned open-mouthed-languid and sloppy, and wetter, just like you’ve grown against his leg you’re now straddling. Your thin leggings feel far too thick in this moment and you rut against him, a frustrated whine catching in the back of your throat.</p><p> </p><p>Your hands find his hair, threading your fingers through the layers and cradling him against you as he continues his assault all over your neck and exposed throat. You arch your back, pressing your chest into his bare chest and you can feel his heat, can feel his cock against your other leg: hard and straining against his tight jeans, and his hand creeping up under your shirt to splay out over the small of your back.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want?” You ask, a bit breathlessly, rocking against him tugging at his hair hard enough to make him cry out and kiss you more fervently.</p><p> </p><p>“I want you.” He says hot against your jaw before nipping at it softly, sending a straight thunderbolt into your chest that ebbs outwards and makes your nipples pearl over. “Slow.” And his hand creeps up and up your back, slow, until his fingers fumble with the back clasp of your bra. He impresses you both by undoing it it one movement. His fingers creep upward still, until his palm rests warm on your shoulder blade and he pulls away from your neck to look at you with glassy and dark eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Your hands leave his hair and you can see the brief crestfallen look in his eyes, but it is soon assuaged when your fingers find their way in his scruff and you look at him, holding his face, both of your breathing quickening, and his fingers splay out over your cheek. You’re swallowed in the familiar cherry blossom scent that’s lingered around him ever since you gifted him the same-scented hand creme to help mitigate the dry roughness his hands went through from frequent hand washing. At home, and at work.</p><p> </p><p>You’re surprised when he closes the space between the two of you, too caught up in the memory of giving him the cherry blossom stuff, and you gasp against his mouth when he’s there, closing your eyes, kissing him back, catching his lower lip in your mouth. He rocks you against him, his hands on your hips, when you suck at his lower lip. And you can taste the spearmint on his breath (you were totally right about the Tic Tacs earlier), and he opens his mouth for you, moaning into yours when your tongue darts across his swollen lip you’ve been working on, and his hands squeeze your hips, almost painfully.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I take these off?” He murmurs deftly against your lips before kissing the both of you quiet, his fingertips curling around the waistband of your leggings.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” you say against him, tugging at the back of his hair until his throat is exposed to you, and you mimic the attention he gave you on yours, and he shudders against you, especially when your hands roam over the plane of his chest, and pressing into his lower belly. He presses his forehead against yours, enjoying this slow petting over his front until your hands rest at his shoulders to support yourself against him and his fingers curl over your legging’s waistband, taking care to leave your panties on. He tugs them down and you move just so to help kick them off, shifting to sitting on your knees in between his spread legs. His hand slides up the back of your shirt and says seriously, “I need to take this off so your pants don’t get lonely on the floor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” you consent, just as gravely and this makes him smile.</p><p> </p><p>Your shirt is gone in a whisper, tossed to the floor, and he leans into you, willing you on your back with his weight and his kiss. His tongue flits over and under yours, clumsy, until you’re laying under him, his hair loose and tousled and falling over his forehead, and his flannel shirt hanging open and framing his chest and firm abdomen, clenching taut from holding his weight over you.</p><p> </p><p>He holds his weight on his left arm—like he had when he was reading earlier—and uses his fingertips on his right to lightly pull your bra strap to the side, “And this, too?” He asks, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder, “can I have it?” Then doing the same to the other, until you’re nodding against him, carding your fingers through his hair at the side with one hand, cupping his scruff, and your fingers curling around the waistband of his jeans and you wonder if your heat, your dampness can be felt through the denim as he tugs your bra off and lets it fall on top of your small pile of clothes at the foot of his bed.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘I can feel you,’</em> he says firmly without speaking, eyes locked onto yours, <em>‘I’m going to touch you—take care of you—please tell me to stop if you need me to. I know you think you’ll be fine with anything, but you don’t have to be. Okay?’</em> He asks in this silent way, with a minuscule nod until you nod, too.</p><p> </p><p>He brushes a line over your lower lip with his thumb and then presses a linger kiss, nuzzling his nose into yours. And he uses his nose to trace a trail to your collarbone where its like a button gets unpaused and he picks up where he left off with his sloppy kisses, devouring you until he gets to your breasts and cups one softly in his warm hand and looks up at you before fluttering his eyes shut. He flits his tongue over your hard nipple, taking you into his mouth and moaning soft and warm against you before suckling at you and teasing you when you cry out at his heated contact and arch your back into him pressing your stomachs together. He sighs against your chest at the contact, and focuses his attention on your other breast, kneading it at tracing his teeth over your pearled nipple enough just to tickle it. His body covering you protects you from the chill in his room, and this causes you to flush and try to melt into him further.</p><p> </p><p>Your fingers fumble with the button on his jeans, and you begin to ask, “Can—”</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” he says against your chest, kissing you in between your breasts, his scruff scratching at the soft curves of your chest.</p><p> </p><p>You free his button and run your palm down the front of his jeans to feel his hardness and he moans against your collarbone, bucking his hips against you in a delicate and restrained way. You slide your palm back up his length before fingering at his zipper, and pulling it down. Its metallic creaking opening up is loud in his quiet room and thrums in your ears over the blood rushing around in you. And you are careful—just like he was earlier—to peel away his pants while leaving his underwear behind, and he—just like you earlier—helps with kicking them off.</p><p> </p><p>And now he’s the one on his knees in between your spread legs, and he shrugs out of his flannel shirt, never breaking eye-contact with you in this delightful stretch, and you flush watching his biceps flex with the movement before he pushes his hair back with both hands, looking down at you. You press your palm flat against his chest, spreading your fingers out over his hair there. He covers the back of your hand with his palm, and you take his figure in, finally letting yourself look at all of him, and you make a soft sound, not quite a moan but pretty close, at the sight of him in only his very short cut red boxer briefs. Your fingers trace long tickling lines down his chest, down his abdomen, and over the soft fabric, feeling his heat and hardness, cupping your hand over it and squeezing.</p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, and you take the opportunity to shift to your knees, mirroring him, and take a breath before pulling his boxer briefs down and over the firm curve of his ass. His hand falls to the back of your head, then squeezes at the back of your neck. His swollen cock bounces back from loosing its covering of his underwear, and it falls back against his lower belly with a heavy bounce. His size doesn’t surprise you—he’s always exuded a quiet ‘big dick energy’ you’re sure the internet would describe him with—and you hum out your lust over seeing his cock head leaking precome. You cover the underside of its base with your hot hand and he thrusts into you as your fingers wrap around the shaft, your fingers not quite closing around its thickness to touch the tip of your thumb. The ridges and veins are a delight against your skin, and he brings your face to his for more open-mouthed kisses while he fucks himself into your tight grip, moaning your name into your mouth and, “I want to feel you on top of me,” and he snakes his arm around your lower back when you nod against him, and he takes you both down, with you straddling his lap. You drop to your forearms, holding yourself over him, your arms wrapped around his neck and sighing softly into his ear when your breasts press softly and firmly into his strong chest. And you both just hold each other close like this.</p><p> </p><p>His cock twitches against you, snugly slid between your clapsed bellies. You feel the wet at the leaking tip, and this makes you kiss him sweetly on his neck. This heat, this proximity, and swirling thoughts daring you to consider the word ‘love’ somewhere, bookended with ellipses colored like his eyes. His forearms are strong on your back, squeezing you like he doesn’t want to let you go. And an echoing—like before—melding thought, something like ‘love’, but more certain: bolded and italicized rather than stuck in between uncertain punctuation. And something else from him: something about him not being afraid—perhaps, for the first time in his life. And you know: he wanted you to cover him because you make him feel safe.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he huffs in your ear, his palm coming up the back of your neck until he cradled you in the crook of his.</p><p> </p><p>You reach between the two of you and place yourself over the underside of his cock, wedging him between your slick folds and he moans softly, that small and delicate sound, and his palm pressing the small of your back down onto him when you start grinding against his thick length, moving up enough to rut his cockhead against your swollen and sensitive clit. The friction makes him cry out, and you lick at his collarbone before biting down on him softly, making his hands fly to your hips and grip you tightly. His thrusts match you rocking into him, and he presses himself hard up into you, making you soak all over him again with his hot and soft cockhead rubbing firmly into your clit.</p><p> </p><p>“Danny,” you whisper in his ear, biting down softly on his lobe, and this moves him to take you and roll you onto your back and you let out a laugh at his sudden strength, squeezing at the muscles in his upper arms.</p><p> </p><p>He licks the shell of your ear and breathes into it, saying aloud in a low hum, “I love the way your sweet pussy soaks my cock. I want you to take me. I want you to let me fuck you until I can feel you coming on me.” His breath is loud and hot in your ear, and you feel him trembling from both holding himself over you, and from nerves: you can tell it took a lot of bravery for him to say these things to you, especially because he couldn’t look at you while saying them.</p><p> </p><p>“I want you, Danny, please,” you pull his face from his hiding place and look up at his eyes burning a steely azure, and clouded over with desire.</p><p> </p><p>He rocks his hips into you, his cockhead running a line up and down your too-slick folds, stopping at your entrance, and the pressure makes you cry out, and you arch your back for the millionth time tonight. You grind and wiggle against him, silently telling him that you want more, and he smiles at you with all of his teeth. You pull him down for a full kiss, licking your way into his mouth, and stealing his breath away when he pushes inside of you. His cock is hot and hard and soft, and he stops giving you himself at just the tip. You clench around him, telling him you want more, and he moans into your mouth, just rutting against you here, reaching between the two of you to press his palm over your mound and stroke your clit with his thumb.</p><p> </p><p>He looks down at you, biting at his lower lip. <em>‘Such a sweet girl, so wet for me. Are you my sweetheart?’ </em>His thumb strokes you lovingly, slow circles with just the right amount of pressure, his other hand holding your thigh against his hip.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” you look up at him with wide eyes, angling your hips against him, trying to sink him further into you.</p><p> </p><p>He gives you a little more of himself, watching you with keen interest, still worrying at his lower lip, eyes dreamy. <em>‘Will you let me love you? After this? After tonight?’</em></p><p> </p><p>“God, yes.” You whine, squirming against him, heart hammering too hard.</p><p> </p><p>His hand moves from your mound and rests firmly on your belly, and he falls onto his forearms to hold himself closer to you, kissing you under your eyes before resting his forehead against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘I have always loved you, Dan,’ </em>you think, closing your eyes and listening to only his breathing your ear.</p><p> </p><p>And this thought was the only thing he needed to hear to slowly sink into your warmth—to give you more of what you’ve been all but begging for—stretching you with each centimeter of himself and he stills once he’s all the way in. He snakes his arm under the small of your back to hold you as close as he can have you. His weight over you is too much, and you feel yourself flush with a first real wave of heat that makes your skin prickle with sweat. And he fills you with long, slow strokes, reaching deep inside of you, reaching the spot that you can so infrequently reach yourself and you cry out against his neck. He buries himself fully again and this time only rocks against you, his cock head licking at that spot in you, his breathing turning ragged, more like panting in your ear, broken up by only his little moans that make him sound so small.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I ride you? I want to look at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he says breathlessly, and with that strong deftness from earlier, he twists and brings you with him until you’ve got him pinned on his back, straddling his cock.</p><p> </p><p>You steady yourself, placing your hands on his chest: now warm and a bit damp from your own steamed panting against his skin, and from his struggle between exertion and restraint. He covers your hands with one of his and he looks up at you with wide-eyed wonder as you roll your hips back and forth against him. You trace your fingers down from his chest, down to his abdomen, and your fingertips rest in the nest of his public hair and you feel yourself flush over how wet you’ve gotten it.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘You made a mess on me with your pretty pussy, sweetheart.’ </em>He tells you with his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>You hold yourself against him, one palm still flat on his chest, and reaching between your legs with the fingers of your free hand, working your clit in the way that you have so many times before when thinking about him—having him just like this—one late night after the other. He grabs your hips and starts fucking up into you, and your supporting arm bends, almost making you collapse against his chest. <em>‘I’ll fuck you; just keep touching yourself. You look so good.’</em></p><p> </p><p>“Danny,” you moan out, throwing your head back, grabbing one of your breasts with one hand and squeezing it, playing with the nipple, showing off for him and making him groan out your name. You stroke your clit quicker with your fingers, riding him at the same pace and force that he’s giving you.The sound of his skin meeting yours at this pace, the loud slapping sound driving you crazy, and you feel loose flutterings of an orgasm building up, and warn him with his name, and he takes over your movements, pulling your body onto his as he relentlessly fucked up into you.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘Just keep touching yourself,’ </em>his eyes tell you again. <em>‘You’re about to come. I can feel it.’</em></p><p> </p><p>And you chase after that feeling, fighting to keep your eyes open, looking at his muscles in his arms working to work you, stuffing himself into you, and you clenching around him. Your jaw goes slack, and you whine out his name again, feeling yourself loose control, like your body was out of control, and slipping into a wet ecstasy: never this intense before with your self or with somebody else.</p><p> </p><p>Danny pulls you close and flips you both over one last time, holding himself over you like he was going to do a push up, and fucks into you with something stronger than the muscles in his arms or in his thighs, so hard and deep that you can feel his balls slap and smash into your ass and you angle yourself to keep feeling that. <em>‘Come for me,’ </em>his eyes tell you, a sharp gleam in them as they rove from watching your fingers fly over your sensitive bud to watching your wide eyes welled with wet from the overwhelming stimulation. <em>‘Five,’ </em>he starts with a stern tenderness, and your lips part and you stare up at him dumbly. He arches an eyebrow. <em>‘Four.’ </em>Never has something like this happened to you—this countdown—with another partner, or even in the fantasies you relied on when you were fucking yourself and whimpering his name helplessly in the dead of the night in your room. <em>‘Three’. </em>There’s that clenching again, and his soft moan spilling out of his lips along with your name at this wet and sucking friction. <em>‘Two,’ </em>and you grabbing his bicep with one hand and moaning out his name like a broken and skipping record as you come on his cock, your fingers’ sliding around your clit turning less frenzied and more sensual to enjoy your orgasm, to ride it out as long as possible, and him slowing to let you ride it out, to bring you down softly.</p><p> </p><p>You shakily wrap your arms around his neck and whimper, wanting him close, wanting to thank him or something, and he falls softer over you. Less this rigid pounding into you, and more this strong and sure pushing, like the ocean’s tides. He kisses your forehead before pressing his against yours, “I’m going to come, sweetheart,” and you know he means it in a warning, and tells you as a way to ask where you want it to happen.</p><p> </p><p>And you, blissed out, but never more sure about anything in your life, “I want you to come inside of me, Dan.”</p><p> </p><p>He shivers against you with this plea, and your fingers stroke soft circles at the small of his back as he fucks gently into your post-bliss heat. Your other hand roves over the curve of his firm ass and you pull him closer, encouraging him to fuck you how he wants, how he needs.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘Told you I want you slow,’ </em>he chuckles against your neck, kissing you there, his scruff driving you wild. And he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. <em>‘Gonna come, sweetheart. You make me feel so good.’</em></p><p> </p><p><em>‘Look at me. Don’t close your eyes, look at me. Please,’ </em>you think.</p><p> </p><p>And he pulls back, holding himself further above you one last time, and works to keep his eyes open, his lips falling open with a harder moan than the ones before. The crease in his brow returns, and his eyes filled with adoration, if not devotion. “Sweetheart,” he coos out, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and he comes when your tongue darts out to lick a stripe over it before taking it into your mouth and suckling with a firm softness. “Oh, fuck me,” he pants out, unable to keep his eyes open and burying himself completely, his hips stuttering out against you as he comes inside of you, your name tumbling quietly out of him like his favorite and only homily—the first person to ever do this to you, and the first time he’s ever done this to someone—spilling his love and his light into you.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>After, you clean each other in his small bathroom. Both of you are loose and dumb in the shower. He holds you steady against him, his thigh pressed between your legs while you washed his cock, his chest. And he bathes you, too, and he takes you to bed, asking if you can cover him and sleep on him like that through the night.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>In the morning, you both want to stay in bed.</p><p> </p><p>You check your phone to see the time, and notice you have a message.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you walk home after all?” Billy’s text asks you.</p><p> </p><p>Dan squints at your phone screen from over your shoulder and huffs out a small, warm chuckle against the back of your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sorry I didn’t message you about that,” you text back. And you wonder if this lie will work.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh huh. I see,” Billy’s next text says. “Impressive that you’ve done this in socked feet.” And a photo of your boots still in his room follows his message. You groan, and toss your head back, bumping into Danny and he kisses your temple. “Give me a holler if you need Danno and I to take you to the hospital for frostbite. I’m sure you’ll see him before you see me...”</p><p> </p><p>“He knowsssss,” you sigh, groaning. “We’re never going to live this down. He’ll never not tease us.”</p><p> </p><p>Danny kisses you again, and pries your phone from your hand, setting it back down on the bedside table. “We’ll deal with that later. All I care about right now is us teasing each other.”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>(End)</p>
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